


Obeisance

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Breathplay, Dominance, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-08
Updated: 2006-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ancient Egyptians spoke of the Feather of Ma'at weighing their souls in the afterlife, what the Christians would call Judgment Day.  What do the Cylons believe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obeisance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [projectjulie (projectcyborg)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectcyborg/gifts).



> Date: 7-8 April 2006  
> Word Count: 1684  
> Summary: The Ancient Egyptians spoke of the Feather of Ma'at weighing their souls in the afterlife, what the Christians would call Judgment Day. What do the Cylons believe?  
> Spoilers: through "Resurrection Ship, Part 2" at least  
> Warnings: BDSM, breath play, character abuse  
> Website: ShatterStorm Productions – Frisked & Conquered  
> Link to: <http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/>  
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
> 
> Author’s Disclaimer: "Battlestar Galactica," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Ron Moore, David Eick, SciFi, R&D TV, Sky TV, and USA Cable Entertainment LLC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Battlestar Galactica," SciFi, or any representatives of the actors whose characters are involved.
> 
> Title Notes: I always like to make the title suit the story, but with a somewhat esoteric twist. And so I thought about this one pretty much the entire time I was writing it. And then "Obeisance" popped into my head. It made complete sense, given the situation in the story.
> 
> According to the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, the [definition for "obeisance"](http://www.m-w.com/dictionary/obeisance) is as follows:
>
>> > > 1 : a movement of the body made in token of respect or submission : BOW  
> 2 : DEFERENCE, HOMAGE
> 
> Author’s Notes: Where do I begin? I suppose the challenge that spawned this fic would be good start, eh? This was written for projectjulie for the Laura Roslin round over at [ ](http://getyourtoaster.livejournal.com/profile)[ **getyourtoaster** ](http://getyourtoaster.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal. The actual assignment I got was as follows:
>
>> prompt 1  
> character you want paired with Laura Roslin: Tory  
> up to three things you want to see in the story: "as you wish, Madam President"; co-conspiracy; thigh-high stockings  
> up to two things you don't want to see in the story: excessive guilt; Tory as a pushover  
> preferred rating: dirty  
> prompt 2  
> character you want paired with Laura Roslin: Caprica!Six  
> up to three things you want to see in the story: theology; politics; hatred of Gaius  
> up to two things you don't want to see in the story: easy answers, peacetime  
> preferred rating: dirty  
> prompt 3  
> character you want paired with Laura Roslin: Galactica!D'anna  
> up to three things you want to see in the story: a strategic alliance between state power and media power; a struggle for dominance; thigh-high stockings  
> up to two things you don't want to see in the story: New Caprica  
> preferred rating: dirty  
> 
> 
> All three options had their appeal, and I spent pretty much the entirety of the three weeks between getting the assignment and yesterday trying to determine exactly what I wanted to do. Although the Roslin/Six pairing really intrigued me, if only because of the whole Roslin as the Cylon god theory that I espouse so deliciously.
> 
> And then when I started writing this? I was at work, of all places. Waiting on hold for an idiot customer. Got about 200 words written during that half hour or so call. It's always amusing to write smut of any kind while at work. It really just makes me giggle, but I do it anyway. I used to do it in class when I was in college, too.
> 
> And lastly? I like writing kink, okay? It fascinates me in ways I can't always explain. And this was the first time I've ever written breath play. It was an intense ride, to say the least, and was actually completed in about 4 hours. I just hope my recipient likes it… I know a couple of my kinky BDSM muses certainly do…
> 
> Beta: [](http://shatterpath.livejournal.com/profile)[**shatterpath**](http://shatterpath.livejournal.com/), as per usual
> 
> Dedication: to the Grail, aka Carolyn Roselane .. One of the kinkiest muses I know…

  


"Gaius Baltar is merely a tool to be used and discarded when no longer vital to my plans. I mean, to Your plans."

I regarded the willowy blonde kneeling prostrate before me. The wavy spill of pale tresses haloed the face pressed into the carpet at my feet. It was so tempting to force that smug face down further into the carpet with the slightest pressure of my foot.

And yet, I resisted temptation.

"Again," I growled softly. "Say it correctly, and I want it to be heartfelt. Am I understood?"

I heard the audible swallow, even from this small distance, as she nodded. After a quick clearing of her throat, her melodic voice wafted up from below me.

"Gaius Baltar is merely a tool to be used and discarded when no longer vital to Your plans."

"Excellent," I murmured. "Please continue."

"Allowing Gaius Baltar to believe he is anything more than a tool, a means to Your ends, is to afford him more freedom than he deserves."

I smiled at that statement. This model appeared to be far more readily subservient than I'd originally expected. That was certainly a point in her favor. I leaned over to lightly stroke my fingers through those pale tresses. So soft, silky, deceptively drawing on the angelic connotations. So easy to believe that lie when unable to see the calculating eyes. I could feel her struggling not to arch up into my touch as she continued her litany.

"We, my brothers and sisters and I, exist because You wish it so. We are the chosen few who will spread the message of Your word throughout the galaxies. We, the apostles of the one god, will be rewarded greatly when Judgment Day arrives."

I coughed to cover my chuckle at that last. They had no idea, did they? But then, that was my plan. Cylons and Humans alike would be so surprised in the final days when I revealed my grand designs.

"Tell me," I purred, interrupting her pontification. "What do you think of Gaius Baltar? I want your honesty, my dear, not what you think I want to hear." She hesitated for a few seconds, long enough for me to snatch up a handful of that heavenly hair and pull up on it severely. "And you'll face me for this. I want to see in your eyes if you're speaking the truth or not."

There was a healthy hint of fear in those blue eyes, warring with the self-assured dominance she usually displayed around Baltar, among others. I couldn't deny the very visceral thrill at her submission and fear. This was one of the dangerous models, and I wouldn't have her turn traitor on me while I had the means to control her utterly.

"Gaius is… He feels he is entitled to so much because of his intelligence, his position within the Colonies, his work. There is no denying his intelligence, of course, but he's arrogant. And it's more than the arrogance of superior intelligence over the masses. He maintains that he should be allowed far more privileges than anyone else, simply by virtue of that great intelligence. He has no sense of the greater good, but sees things in a muddied grey where he must always come out on top. I don't presume to interpret why I was chosen to be his intermediary. Or rather why my particular model was chosen as such. Other than the obvious sexual attractions that certainly piqued his interest. He's… In bed, the man is less than adequate, but feels that he's the greatest lover on the faces of all the planets known to Mankind. He certainly thinks that he's been entitled to do whatever he pleases because of who he's become."

"And who is that?" I didn't bother to hide the curiosity from my tone at that last comment. The rest was either already known or presumed.

"The savior of Mankind. The link between the Humans and the Cylons. The voice of intelligent reason amidst a morass of mentally stunted inadequacy."

My grip on her hair tightened. "And since you have such intimate knowledge of Gaius Baltar's thought processes, does he feel the same way about me?"

Blinking furiously, she shook her head. "You he fears. Utterly intense, bone-deep fear of the one person he truly sees as a threat. He willingly bows to the altar of science and intellect, but only fear of reprisal keeps him bowing to You. He despises You and everything You stand for, if only because it makes him less than he feels he is."

"And you encourage that in him, don't you? That sense of entitlement, of bucking against my will and my decisions." I modulated my tone, attempting a less threatening, more maternal and accepting tone. "You make him feel like he's invincible, utterly right in his convictions and dreams. You encourage him to think less of me, don't you?"

Tears sparkled in those pale blue eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered fearfully. "I didn't know. I knew I was to work with Gaius, to push him into deepening the Cylon agendas."

"And you fed his fear and hatred of me," I prompted, stroking her hair lovingly. "Turned it into bona fide loathing and disgust. Primed him to take over as President of the Colonies in the event of my death."

She clutched at my leg, honest to gods fear in her eyes. "I had no idea that the person I was turning him against was…You. I thought of Laura Roslin as a weak, insubstantial Human who was flawed, so very flawed by a wasting disease."

"And how could you have known of my disease before I disclosed it publicly?"

"I don't know," she whispered brokenly, daring to rest her cheek against my knee. "I have no excuses. But I am willing to do whatever it takes to regain Your favor."

"Whatever it takes? Even death?" I purred seductively. "We are quite far away from Caprica, and the Resurrection ship is long destroyed. There would be no downloading of your consciousness and memories into another body. It would effectively be boxing you." I gripped her chin tightly and stared at her for a long moment. "Are you still so willing to do whatever it takes?"

Her secondary hesitation was all it took for me to see through the haughty veneer she normally displayed. "Whatever it takes," she breathed. "Even death. I would willingly accept death to regain favor in the eyes of my god. I live to serve You."

Shifting, I pulled her head back by the handful of hair still in my tight grip and wrapped my other hand around the long column of her throat. "Then prove it," I growled, tightening my fingers against that silky pale skin. "Prove to me that you deserve to live and continue serving me. Show me how deserving you believe you are."

She sputtered and gagged, struggling against my dual hold on her. One hand came up to grip my wrist, not to fight, to balance. But she met my gaze unwaveringly, zealous fervor lighting the blue with an intensity I hadn't guessed in her. Her lips parted, nostrils flaring with each hard-won breath. Her other hand stroked up my calf blindly until she encountered the hem of my skirt. Emboldened, she continued tracing a path along my inner thigh until her fingertips brushed against the surprisingly damp cotton between my legs.

A low moan escaped my lips as her fingers fumbled to push the material aside, bumping against my clit in the process. I shifted, spreading my legs and easing closer to her eagerly grappling fingers. It took a little more shifting, but finally she slid three fingers deeply into me. Oddly enough, her thumb unerringly found my clit again.

"Please," she hissed, squeezing my wrist in time with the thrusting into my clenching wet heat.

I released her hair long enough to reach down and savagely pinch one of her nipples, aroused by the throaty cry that expended so much energy and air from her struggling lungs. The instant her head was free, she actually leaned into the hand constricting her throat. I could feel the erratic flutter of her pulse from the arteries on either side of that slender throat, and I tightened my grip slightly. She wheezed for breath, fingers beginning to thrust deeper, harder. My hips shot up against her hand in need as her thumb danced across my clit, perfectly manicured nail lightly scraping the hood to increase my arousal.

"If you so much as think of stopping, you'll be dead before the thought fully forms in your frakking brain," I growled, glaring at her.

She met my eyes willingly, defiantly. "Never." The word was barely uttered from lips just starting to tinge blue. Her porcelain skin was turning a dusky red as she fought for oxygen. And yet her moving hand didn't waver in its rhythm.

That she was still intent on proving herself to regain my favor, even pushing right up to death's door and the certainty of oblivion, it only increased the intensity of the orgasm blossoming under her expert touch. What delicious manipulations of hand and mouth could she perform when not fighting for her very life? Perhaps, if she survived my orgasm, it might be worth discovering.

"I am Yours," she barely mouthed as unconsciousness clouded over her glazed gaze.

That utter devotion was my undoing, and I let out a triumphant shriek as my orgasm rolled over me with the force of a tsunami. My body bucked against both seat and supplicant as my nerves sang a symphony that only I could hear. If my hand tightened more around her throat, I didn't notice it until there was suddenly nothing in my grip. It took several moments before I was coherent enough to recognize my surroundings again. I glanced down to see her lying sprawled on the ground, a beatific smile gracing her face, marred only by the darkening imprint of my hand around her throat. A badge of courage she could bear proudly.


End file.
